Monster
by IHeartUCato
Summary: Monster- Meg and Dia. This is rated T-M because it is VERY dark and mentions, abuse, suicide and vaguely rape. "Marcus Eaton was a monster; that much she was sure of. Because what there explanation is there for beating the woman you are supposed to love and cherish? The answer was simple: There was none."


**A/N- So this is my second Marcus/Evelyn fic, but this one is much darker and more focused on the abusive part of their relationship. Again, this was requested by the wonderful Midnight-Solace, and I was more than happy to oblige. I don't own the characters, enjoy... maybe.**

"Love me. That's all I ask for." He whispered to her when he was finished. He walked away from her, lying bare on the floor watching him head back to his –_their-_ room. She crawled over to her ripped tunic, wanting something –_anything-_ to cover herself. Needing something to cover the bruises and welts already growing darker and purple.

Perhaps it was good that she was Abnegation, she was not expected, no, she would be _shamed_ if she were to show more skin than necessary. Her face was completely free of any evidence of what had just happened except her already drying tears. Her hands were free of any damage except the blood dripping down her legs that she was trying in vain to clean.

This was not the man she had fallen in love with. This was not the man she vowed herself to, and gave herself over to. This was a cruel monster that took his place.

Or perhaps this is who he really his, and the man she fell for never existed.

XXXXXXXX

That night he had finally taken her for his own; 'violating her' as she had said with such vehemence, in the grandest way he could. He struggled as close to her as a monster as he _could _grow to someone, and he finally won her over before he left her bruised and broken.

Because he took her. He took everything she had. Shattered what he couldn't take. Left her down there to decide what to do with herself. Because he knew, he _knew_, she wouldn't dare say anything. She wouldn't _dare_ risk her reputation to accuse Marcus Eaton of _beating his wife._ The idea in itself was ridiculous.

And yet.

And yet here they were.

His whole life, he had craved to feel emotion. As a child he was denied love from his own parents, so why should others deserve it? Someone who could love such a monster, hurting her would be for her own good. Because the physical pain would be better than the mental and emotional abuse he would let loose on her if he were to have his way with her.

A month before his Choosing Ceremony, his own mother had compared him to a small child, wailing and banging his tiny fists looking for _some_ kind of recognition; good or bad, it didn't so much as matter as long as he got what he was looking for.

And he supposed it was the same now. For when he heard the door quietly squeak open and the smallest shaft of light flitted its way into the bedroom; when he heard the soft padding of his wife –his _surrogate-_ before she crawled into the bed with him; he felt victory. Victory because he knew he had won, he had broken her. And she had come crawling back to him as expected.

And yes, victory was indeed sweet.

XXXXXX

She had thought, perhaps, that it would just be that one time. That _one time_ that he would inflict such pain on her. But two months in and they hadn't stopped. And she had learned, the hard way of course that the more she screamed, the worse it got her.

But that wasn't all she had noticed.

She wasn't one to calculate when her next time should be, but two months without the usual 'Oh look, you aren't pregnant.' call from Mother Nature, and an unusual bump in her abdomen was a cause for worry. And she would be damned if she would have to bear his child, and because of such an appalling and horrid manner of being husband and wife. Because not once since that one night, had they made love, or whatever that beast of a man calls what happened.

And so when the eventual beatings came, she hoped he would strike her stomach and end a life he didn't realize he had created; a life that would hopefully never see the light of day and would never have to meet its forsaken father. Because this... _thing _growing inside her was the work of the devil, and as such would be as forsaken as its father before it even met the cruel and unforgiving world it would have to live in.

But even though she was sure he had struck her stomach more than once, it continued to grow. The baby was a survivor, and that was not a good thing.

She would not bear his child. She refused.

XXXXXX

He has noticed the subtle changes in her attitude quickly enough. Growing up Erudite, he was taught to notice the smallest details.

He noticed how, with each passing day, after she left the washroom each morning, she looked increasingly worried. He noticed how when he beat her, for her own good of course, she would cower away from the belt, but simultaneously seem to want him to hit a certain part of her. To hit her stomach. Where only he, as her husband, would be able to see the slightest bump when she was not wearing the baggy clothing of the Abnegation.

Was she pregnant? He did not know. And he didn't ask. In time they would know for sure, and in that time, he would avoid possibly killing the small life hiding inside her. Because perhaps she did not want it, but her having his child would be yet another victory, something in which he craved.

As well, with every passing day and with her increasing worry and his increasing speculations, he knew her having his child would break her. She wouldn't want it, and so he would want it twice as much. Enough for the both of them.

And that was when he realized that all those dreams of his, they were _her _nightmares. And that made him smile.

XXXXX

It was official, she was pregnant. Three and a half months along in fact when she finally decided to go see a doctor about it. And he knew too. So she couldn't hide it from him and he couldn't accidently kill the child. Because now instead he would focus on her arms and legs, and on 'special occasions' her chest area.

Her wrists and ankles turning a perpetual deep purple, sometimes so bad she stumbled when she walked. Having to come up with the excuse that she was just clumsy and tired from working so hard.

In public, she felt like a glass mirror. Projecting what everyone, including _him, _the damned monster, wanted to see, while simultaneously feeling like she could shatter at any moment. Feeling weak without any control over what she did and how she acted, what with him being a respected leader and model citizen. Not to mention one of the most 'selfless' people in the faction.

Selfless. Living with him, it was the best practice in selflessness she could ever need. She would have to forget herself as he hit her, and whipped her with his wicked belt. Living in the pain, but not saying a word about it. Havin to ask herself and the monster that seemedalways around her how she should feel.

And even after so many beatings, it still felt like she was being watched. It felt like every time he left her to sleep, the monsters of the outside world were watching her, _mocking her_. Laughing at her foolish attempts to leave him.

The most prominent one being when they went to see a doctor, when they had found out about her being truly pregnant. That night she had tried to kill herself. She took a steak knife with her and went into the washroom for a bath. She sat there soaking and examining her bruises. Some of them oh so prominent against her fair skin. Others faint, but permanent. Each and every one a reminder that she fell for his trick.

Each a reminder that _he_ was in control, always in control.

Because who he is, was written into his DNA the day he was conceived. His need for dominance written into his veins. And so she took the knife and prepared to end her life, hers and the demon child growing inside her.

And so she picked up the knife and was ready to pierce her heart with it, ending her horrible existence once and for all.

But it was as if he could read her thoughts through the walls of the house, as he charged through and ripped the knife from her hand, and dragged her out of the bathtub by her hair.

That was the worst beating she had gotten up to that point.

He hadn't just used his belt as he normally would. He kicked her, careful not to kill the child. He stomped on her fingers, ensuring that she wouldn't be able to kill herself when he went to sleep. He whipped her with his belt over and over, the skin on hr back turning such a dark purple it looked almost black.

And when he was finished, he called _her _the selfish one.

"You have a life growing inside of you!" He had spat in her face. "You can't just give that up!"

"It's a demon child because it was made from _you_ and I would happily give up its rotten existence!" She had yelled back. That had earned her and blow to the face so hard her jaw was dislocated and she was not allowed to talk for nearly a month.

She had grown up Erudite, wasting no time dreaming up the impossible or unscientific. Monsters did not exist as far as she, or any other child in Erudite was concerned.

But children fear monsters for a reason. Whether it be they're afraid they'll eat them in their sleep, or that they're afraid of being dragged off in the night, they believe them to be real.

And so whether it be growing up Erudite or just growing up period, you forget that 'childish' fear of monsters and the unknown creatures that lurk in the dark.

But Marcus Eaton was a monster; that much she was sure of. Because what there explanation is there for beating the woman you are supposed to love and cherish?

The answer was simple: There was none.

**A/N- Well... there you go. Not much else to say. Except mind helping me out and checking out me and my friends' new community? 'The Songfics of Divergent' LOVE YOU GUYS, BYE-BYE!**


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